


A Fortuitous Meeting

by Chocolatebuttonsandbooks



Series: Wynonna Earp Witcher Universe [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Inspired by The Witcher, Lust at First Sight, Nicole has not one but TWO swords, Waverly just wants to cast spells and have fun ok, and Waverly finds that hot, but they both deny it, is it still a meet-cute if one of you is covered in monster guts?, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29879496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatebuttonsandbooks/pseuds/Chocolatebuttonsandbooks
Summary: Nicole is a Witcher, a mutant created by mages with only one task: killing monsters. Waverly is a sorceress on the run from those that would control her or do her harm. This is their chance meeting.Witcher AU inspired mainly by the TV show and game.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Series: Wynonna Earp Witcher Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2196837
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	A Fortuitous Meeting

The swamp water rippled, short waves catching the light of the crescent moon before lapping at the tops of Nicole’s boots. She was being hunted. Knuckles stark white where she gripped the cold handle of her silver sword, she raised it and listened for another sign.

Her heartbeat was slow. Her breaths, smoky in the night air, were measured, and her cat-like eyes scanned the muck and brush surrounding her.

They would strike. Soon.

She sensed rather than saw the movement. She whirled around, lifted her blade as a Drowner burst out of the water behind her. It clawed at her, webbed fingers reached out to strike accompanied by an inhuman screech that bubbled off into a sickening gurgle as silver sliced through it’s right arm, taking it clean off near the elbow and lodging Nicole’s sword in its bony chest.

Grunting with the effort but knowing her urgency was necessary, Nicole yanked her sword back and dodged to the side. A claw swiped at the air she had vacated.

They were on her now. Four, no- five of them, splashing through the grimy water, springing into her vision, all bulging, yellowing eyes, with gaping maws of teeth like broken glass. 

She danced back, out of the range of their first attacks and waited. Her mentor, Randall, had always said _patience is the most important weapon in a Witcher’s arsenal_.

The biggest of the ugly bunch was not patient. It leaped at her, wailed when she dodged the onslaught, and lurched closer, close enough for a quick strike to its abdomen. Blood seeped from the deep gouge, but the others were advancing now, realising that they still had the number advantage.

She stabbed forward, spearing through a weak point near the largest one's neck. A torrent of blood spurted out of the wound, spraying over Nicole's face. Another one down. Just four left, hopefully.

They launched themselves at her in a coordinated attack that she stepped back from again, and again. She swiped left, then right, taking off a hand. It splashed into the murky, red-tinged swamp water, but another took its place. 

A searing pain across her left cheek sent Nicole reeling. She raised her sword and struggled with the Drowner that had cut her, pressing it back with the flat of her blade, but an errant tree root clipped her heel and they toppled over.

Nicole's back hit the water, shooting the breath from her lungs, and the weight of the Drowner pushed her down, submerged her head. She couldn't see. She couldn't _breathe_. Her legs thrashed and she pushed up with the pommel of her sword, knowing that the fine metalwork was the only thing between her face and vicious, gnawing teeth. 

Her strength was waning.

She held the sword fast with one hand and raised the other, motioning with her fingers to cast Aard. The fraction of magical energy she possessed burst out of her palm and flung the Drowner back.

Nicole sat up out of the water, heaved in desperate breaths, then rolled away from an attack. They were relentless. And hungry. They circled her form, eyes full of violence and an otherworldly unease.

Soggy, and thoroughly pissed off, Nicole grit her teeth. She dodged another claw, carved away a chunk of rotten flesh at the attacker’s hip and watched it slop into the mud. Another one down, screeching. 

The one that lost a hand earlier strayed closer, and Nicole made it pay. Silver sliced open its belly from pelvis to sternum and it stood, frozen for a moment, as it gazed down at the guts spilling out of the wound before it collapsed in a heap.

Just two left. They uttered out low growling sounds, communicating in their monstrous tongue, as much as communication could be done by a creature with the brain size of a small fish. They shuffled closer, through the carved-up cadavers that littered the swamp, bloated and floating. 

Nicole sidestepped the first swipe, twisted her sword to wedge it into the attacker’s armpit, sinking the length deep into soft flesh. It flailed, squealed, and whacked her with a stray arm as it met its end.

The white moon was dazzling as Nicole’s head snapped back, rattling her brain. She tottered, pulse thumping in her ears, before steadying herself into her battle stance. 

The final Drowner sprung at her other side, and Nicole blanched when she realised she wasn’t going to get her sword free in time. She improvised. Swinging around, dragging the corpse along with her, she used it as a buffer for the shredding claws being sent her way. Blood sprayed out, coating Nicole and the final Drowner where its clawed hand jammed into the cranium of the carcass between them. This close, the rotten, fishy stench made Nicole’s stomach lurch. Heightened senses weren’t always a blessing. 

The final Drowner ripped its hand free, yanking its dead comrade off the end of Nicole’s sword in the process, and leaving them facing each other, ready to finish.

Easy enough. Just one more, then she could rest. Nicole stood, waiting, with Randall's voice ringing in her ears- _observe its movements. Let it come to you_. Viscera and swamp muck dripped down her face as she eyed the monster's positioning.

Now.

It surged toward her, teeth snapping, eyes bulbous and ferocious, but it missed, clutching at nothing.

Nicole came up out of a roll and slashed it in the side, drawing swathes of blood, black in the moonlight, and again, opening up its back this time, her wrist jarring at her sword meeting bone.

It crumpled.

Face stinging where she'd been hit, Nicole flicked glistening guts off her sword and wiped it on her trousers before returning it to the sheath on her back. Precise and methodical, she rooted through the dead Drowner's bodies, collecting evidence for payment and other body parts which could be sold off for research or rituals. All in a day's work. Or night.

Then, cold and drenched, she whistled and clicked, until her horse, Calamity, trotted down the slope. Nicole smiled and stepped out of the marsh, meeting Calamity where the ground was firmer with a pat to her horse's nose. "Good girl," Nicole cooed, attaching the sack of Drowner heads and entrails onto the side of the saddle.

It was a tiring trek back onto the road, and Nicole ushered Calamity on, thinking only of the chance of a warm bath and bed at a tavern in the town nearby. It would be all the sweeter if the weather, looking cloudier by the minute, was to turn before she got there.

That was when she heard shouts, closer to chanting, which was never a good sign. Then, from far down the muddy road in front of her, an orange glowing light. She strained her ears to hear better and peered through the dark until she could make out a small figure sprinting towards her. Behind the figure was a mob carrying torches and various pointed objects.

"Burn the Witch! Burn the Witch!" She could clearly hear now as they came closer, so she turned Calamity around. A town that ran out a 'Witch' wasn't going to offer a cosy fireside welcome to a Witcher.

Nicole was about to tap her heels into Calamity's side and speed away, but she froze at the sound behind her.

"Please stop! Help me!" A woman's voice, high and panicked.

Nicole's grip on the reigns tightened, but she kept Calamity at a meandering pace. She could hear thundering steps, another desperate plea. "Please, take me with you? I can pay you!"

Nicole stopped.

The Witch was close now. Close enough that when Nicole turned to gaze over her shoulder she could take in a heavy, hooded cloak covering a slight build, with long hair spilling out of the hood in waves. She clutched a small bag in one hand, her other holding up her dress skirts as she jogged to Calamity’s side.

Nicole frowned. “How much?”

The reply came back breathless. “Five Crowns?”

An evening spent soaking in a steaming tub by a roaring fire flashed behind Nicole’s eyelids. “Ten, and I will take you to the next town.” She held out her hand.

The Witch didn’t reach over, instead she placed a hand at her hip. “Eight, and I won’t remind you the entire way that you attempted to barter for my life.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Nicole’s lips, but she hid it as best she could. “It’s a deal, Witch.”

Letting out a huff, the Witch took one last glance at the ever-encroaching mob before placing her hand in Nicole's. It was soft, and warm to the touch, and Nicole hauled her new quarry onto the back of Calamity with ease, clicking her tongue to get moving again. She set a pace fast enough to build up a greater gap between them and the ravenous mass of villagers, the Witch fisting her hands in the sides of Nicole's studded leather armour to hold on.

They were not but half a mile down the road before the Witch broke their silence. "You smell… _interesting_."

Nicole sighed. Of all the Witches to come across in Redania it had to be a chatty one. She slowed their pace to a trot. "I was on my way to a bath when you accosted me."

"My sincere apologies," came the reply. "If I'd known I was interrupting something so important I'd have accepted my fate and been burned to death gladly."

Nicole rolled her eyes. "What did you do to piss them off that much anyway?"

"Nothing. I was settled there for a while, offering simple concoctions and remedies, and then some of those newly formed 'Witch Hunters' came through."

"Witch Hunters?" Nicole raised an eyebrow. That sounded like bad news.

"Where have you been living? Under a rock?"

"Something like that," Nicole answered. She'd not travelled this far North in about five years.

"Possibly explains the smell…"

Nicole turned to look over her shoulder. Her pointed gaze was met with a smirk that had her shaking her head. She focused back on the road. It was never wise to be distracted by a pretty smile. "So, these Hunters?"

"The King has given them free reign to purge the land of any who practice magic without strict license from himself to do so."

Nicole hummed as Calamity pressed on, trotting over the uneven road that, at this point was two divots, made by cart wheels, either side of a grassy middle. "So, you were illegally practicing magic?"

"I was simply earning a living," the Witch said, before shivering under the first cold drops of rain.

"Not far now," Nicole muttered, placing a calming hand on Calamity's neck when the sky opened in a rapid downpour. Nicole closed her eyes a moment, letting the rain wash over her, cleansing and refreshing.

By the time they approached the town, Calamity's hooves were churning up sodden earth with each step. Nicole had to place a hand over her eyes to see through the sheets of rain. She spotted a tavern not far off the main track and edged Calamity closer, hopping off and tying her to a post in one smooth movement. Leaving her hand out for the Witch, she raised her eyebrows when her offer of aid was not taken.

Instead, the Witch attempted to dismount by herself. Difficult enough with a dress on but made harder by the weather conditions having soaked through her clothes. She slipped and fell, crashing into Nicole's chest and braced arms where she was caught.

Nicole steadied her then stepped back. "My payment?"

The Witch shook her head and opened her small bag, sticking her entire arm in. There was a clunk from inside, as if her entire life was impossibly packed in there. "It's somewhere here… got it!" The Witch pulled out a jingling leather pouch and counted out eight gold coins. She placed them into Nicole's outstretched, grime covered hand. "Thank you for your heroic deed."

"Thank you." Nicole pocketed the coins and grabbed the sack of Drowner remains. 

The Witch's eyes followed her movements. They flicked to her armour, the two swords strapped to her back, the metal medallion around her neck in the shape of a wolf's head, the fresh cut running down her cheek, and finally, her eyes. "You're a Witcher?"

"Yes." Nicole shook some water from the tips of her hair.

"Ah. That explains a lot, really."

Nicole didn't reply. Instead, she ripped down a poster by the tavern door, which offered coin for the monsters who had mutilated a local fisherman, and stepped inside.

It was warm and bustling, the heavy scents of damp, dirty coats, men and mead made Nicole wrinkle her nose. Music came from a corner where bards and dancers hopped about, working tirelessly to raise the atmosphere whilst draped in colourful, and often revealing, clothing. Shouts and laughter from the patrons were overwhelming after the muted solitude Nicole had been in for weeks.

Leaving a dripping trail, Nicole stepped towards the bar, keeping her eyes on the barman despite the sudden quiet that had descended upon her entrance.

An ugly, balding man, with an off-centre nose that hinted at a violent past, spat at the floor near her feet. "Don't want your kind 'round here, _Witcher_."

"That's funny." She matched his gaze as she reached into the bloody sack. "I was under the impression you had a Drowner problem." She pulled a head out of the bag and he reeled back, pale and disgusted.

The barkeep knocked a mug against the countertop. "Now now, put the head away, Witcher. We can pay you and I don't want no trouble. Ignore him," and he cast his gaze at the man who had spat at her, "the rest of us do."

She nodded and dropped the head back into the bag, striding up to the bar. "I'll take a room, with a bath, and a mead."

The Barkeep began pouring out the mead then looked over Nicole's shoulder at the Witch still with her hood up. "Anything for you, traveller?"

Nicole turned and leaned on the bar, watching as the Witch finally lowered her hood. Curled brown hair framed her face. A face that was surprisingly youthful. She had bright, hazel eyes that twinkled in the candlelight, a sharp, pointed jawline and an inviting pair of lips. She wasn't a pretty face, she was _beautiful_ , and their eyes met for a moment, lighting a fire in Nicole's belly, before the Witch turned a radiant smile on the barkeep. "I'd love a room too, please. I think I'll pass on the mead."

"Right y'are." He pulled two keys from under the bar and held them out. "Two crowns a night. Double if you want company."

A becoming blush covered the tops of the Witch's cheeks. "Just the room is fine." She placed two gold coins in his hand and took her key. She hovered by Nicole a moment, probably trying to think through how to say goodbye. Nicole was too busy considering asking her to stay for a drink, lamenting that they'd started off in such a poor manner.

The mug of mead and key that was pushed across the bar snapped Nicole out of her staring, and she thanked the barkeep and placed a handful of coins on the counter. By the time she looked back the Witch was already slipping through the crowd towards the stairs.

The barkeep let out a whistle. "I wouldn't bother. Women that beautiful are always trouble."

Nicole glugged down some of her drink and nodded. That, she knew.

* * *

Gazing into the small mirror, with a crack in the top right corner that distorted the top of her head, Waverly longed to speak to her sister. Abandoning the overbearing council that forced the best mages into boring, petty human courts to keep their clutch on the political landscape, had seemed freeing at first. Now it was lonely. The lodge of sorceresses would most likely never take her, and neither would any respectable court.

_And it's all your fault._

The dark, purpling bags under her eyes and her aching arms willed her into the bed, and she wrapped the covers up to her chin. She knew that with rest and proper time to go through her spell materials she'd be able to open a portal and leave this dismal part of the continent. _Finally._

Despite the general discomfort of an average Inn bed, her eyes were drooping closed. Until she heard a clattering followed by a metal scraping noise across the floorboards of the room next door. Waverly clenched her teeth, closing her eyes again and taking in a deep breath, then releasing it. The tension leaked out of her shoulders, sleep seeping into her mind in that slow, sifting way it had. 

There was another crash next door.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Waverly scrambled out of bed and shivered at her bare feet on the cold wood floor. She stormed over to her bag, rooted around for something to cover her night shift, and, with a growl, tied then re-tied her favourite silk dressing gown.

She glanced in the mirror, nodding to herself in determination, then exited her room, pocketing her key. She stepped up to the door next to hers and knocked rapidly, tapping one foot against the floor as she waited.

A call came from inside. "It's unlocked. Come in."

_I will. And I'll give you a piece of my mind too!_ Waverly yanked the door open, stepped into the warm room and gasped, frozen in the entryway. 

The Witcher from earlier was sat in a large, steaming bathtub. Her head rested against the back of the tub, but her eyes, yellow, with thin pupils like a cat's, were fixed on Waverly. The Witcher smirked. "I wondered if I'd see you again, Witch. Please close the door. There's a draft."

"I..." Waverly tried to look away but found herself taking in the vast array of pink scars scattered over the pale white shoulders visible above the bathwater. _Like the carved words of naive lovers in tree bark, the fights she's endured_ _are_ _forever part of her. Or at least something as stupidly poetic is needed right now._ She pushed the door closed behind her and leaned against it.

"Is there something you wanted?" The Witcher asked as she brought a sponge out of the water and scrubbed at the dirt on her face.

Waverly wondered, not for the first time, how much of the blood being washed off was hers and how much was that of some deadly monster. She had so many questions. About Witchers, their lives, the rumours- _do they truly have no emotions?_ -but instead she swallowed her curiosity. From what she had seen, this Witcher was blunt and didn't care for her or her life. "I was trying to sleep. Could I ask you to be quieter, please?" _And if you could have the decency to be far less intriguing and attractive too it would be much appreciated._

"My sincere apologies." The Witcher echoed Waverly's earlier words with just as much insincerity. "I've always found that a bath helps me relax." She moved the sponge to wipe down a bruised arm. "You could use this one after I've done? Or would you prefer to join me whilst the water is still hot?"

_Well..._

Despite being several decades older than she looked, and having experienced many a thing in that time, including taking a few lovers, Waverly blushed. "I'm sure quiet is all I need, thank you," she aimed at the casual arrogance in front of her. _Arrogant and presumptuous. A heady concoction._ "You're not my type," she lied.

Muscled shoulders, catching the candlelight _just_ so, grin wider now that she'd caught Waverly looking, and her auburn hair seeming to dance like a flame in the flickering light, the Witcher's grin didn't waver. "A shame, but fair enough."

Waverly clutched her hands into fists. She _did_ want to get into that disgusting, murky, soapy water. To run her hands through that silky looking hair, and lower, to feel those raised scars bump against her fingertips. She wanted to melt into the warm water and ask a thousand questions of this rude, mysterious stranger. Instead, she unlatched the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." The reply was murmured, and Waverly couldn't help turning back to get a final look at the Witcher. 

Her eyes were closed now as she leaned back in the tub, a look of utter relaxation on her face. _It suits her._

Waverly returned to her room, frustrated at the interaction but ready to sleep. The dreams that came to her when she wrapped herself tightly in the sheets, were full of simmering danger, sliding into unrestrained lust.

When morning came, she stretched out her muscles and smiled. She would head away from the mad King of the Northern realms. _South perhaps? Preferably_ _somewhere less homicidal._

She packed her personal effects into her bag, readjusting the various weighty tomes inside, and opened a portal. It swirled in front of her, whipping at her hair and clothes. She stepped through, into sunshine. Into a new beginning. _Again._


End file.
